


++

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Miscarriage, Parenthood, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Positive,” she explains, and squeals when Soul slaps his arms around her in the tightest hug he can manage and brings her down to the bed, peppering her in a million kisses and explaining in thousands of ways how wonderful she is, absolutely perfect, the best wife anyone could ever ask for, even if they’ve only been married a quarter of a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	++

Soul wakes to Maka bouncing the bed as she sits down right next to him, eagerly shaking his shoulder.

“M’up,” he slurs, over and over until he can actually bother to crack open his eyes and see her smiling at him; he’s not the most pleasant person in the early morning, which is why Soul finds himself horribly confused with her glee.

There’s something in her hand, but she’s holding at away from him, kissing his face with smiley pecks that make him smile a little, too—he wants to be in on the secret! He sits up a little on an arm, trying to see what she’s holding.

“Ready?” She asks, pressing her forehead to his. Her smile hasn’t faded one bit; in fact, Soul thinks it’s grown _bigger_ since a few minutes ago. He nods.

She’s holding a stick—wand? Oh, no wait, a  _pregnancy test_. Maka shows it to him, and she’s excited! He, however doesn’t know how to interpret the little symbols, two black plus signs really could mean anything, if you think about it. He looks to her for a translation.

“Positive,” she explains, and squeals when Soul slaps his arms around her in the tightest hug he can manage and brings her down to the bed, peppering her in a million kisses and explaining in thousands of ways how wonderful she is, absolutely perfect, the best wife anyone could ever ask for, even if they’ve only been married a quarter of a year.

.

Soul really doesn’t have much to adjust to, because he’s always dealt with Maka, since before her hormones made her a mercurial bundle of surprise emotions until now. The throwing up in the mornings is a little (extremely) fucking disgusting, and he always kneels with her to rub her back and get her a washcloth to wipe her face with, because he’d feel too guilty to leave her to her own devices.

She likes eating weird things, like eating lemons straight-up and using strawberry jelly on her burgers; she doesn’t even bother him about the inhumane amounts of food he can down in a sitting, just because Soul has an ammo of “do you want to talk about eating ice cream with ketchup on it?” and the likes that shuts her right down.

Soul’s favorite part is seeing her actually get bigger, not because he’s into banging pregnant chicks or anything like that, but because the entire thing is something so intangible to him that, when they break out the measuring tape-strip and wrap it around her middle, seeing the fact her waist isn’t staying a size 29” makes him believe that this whole thing is  _actually occurring_. It’s mind blowing.

The doctor’s appointments make him believe, too, because when she’s laying down (squealing and smiling about the cold gel they rub on her tummy) with her hand griping his as they watch the doctor point out this and that on the kid— **their**  kid—he knows it’s real, too, unbelievably real.

.

At night, when her belly is big enough to make the blanket swell when tugged over her, he likes to slink under the covers not only to please her (because sex is a tiny bit hard and nerve-wracking with the bulge of her belly  _that is their child_  getting slammed around, so he settles for giving her oral more often than not) but also to hold her middle and talk to his own flesh and blood. Maka is always quiet, always places her hands over his on the swell of her stomach and lets him nuzzle her, whisper about how excited he is, thank you for existing, baby.

She often cries, and he kisses her tears away, thanking her, too.

.

They’re sitting on the couch together one night watching a movie when Maka jumps, scaring the ever-loving shit out of her husband—he thinks something’s wrong.

When he asks what happened, she just grins at him, freakin’  ** _glows_** , and grabs his hands to eagerly place them on her large tummy. “It moved,” she whispers, like she might scare the kid if she speaks any louder. “I felt it.”

So movie night turns into a Hold Maka’s Tummy Until the Baby Kicks Again night, and when Soul gets the chance to feel it, he’s grinning as brightly as she is, kissing her face and then the top of her belly; he hopes babies can feel affection from outside their mothers, that love transfers through like osmosis, because otherwise he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself. He doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself when this kid is born _anyway_ , in fact, because he’s going to lavish it in all the attention a person could ever spew out of their being.

.

One night, Maka complains her sides hurt.

“Maybe it’s your back?”

“Baby doesn’t make it hurt this bad.” ‘Baby’ is the nickname for their kid, because they want it to be a surprise, so gender-specific names would make it a little embarrassing, especially if it were the wrong gender to fit the name. Still, it makes Soul smile a little bit, before he remembers that something is wrong.

“How long has it hurt?”

“Since earlier this afternoon.” He can hear the wheeze in the little sigh she gives; she’s in a lot of pain to complain about it as is, but for it to affect her to the point of labored breathing? He’s more than just a little nervous now.

He doesn’t mean to scare her, because scaring his pregnant wife is probably the dumbest thing he could do right about now, but he makes her jump when he gets up from the table to find the house phone, which is buried in the sofa cushions. Maka’s standing in the hall, a hand holding her belly and the other at her mouth where she’s nibbling on her fingers; she looks like a nervous little girl, and it yanks Souls heartstrings.

“Who are you calling?”

It’s a stupid question, because she can see him only dialing three numbers. She begins to tear up as she listens to Soul explain the situation, and begins to cry quietly when they do not give him advice to relay to her, but instead have him reciting their address and what apartment they live in. When he hangs up, Soul’s all over her, moving her from the hallway to instead lie on the couch, where he sits on the floor right beside her and brushes back her bangs; her forehead’s damp, and it concerns him even further. He hears her breathing pick up, half because she’s crying, half because she’s in pain, and there’s not much stopping her from freaking out.

Soul lets her grip his hand until it nearly breaks as they wait for the sirens to sound and help to come.

.

He’s literally never even heard of Preeclampsia, but that’s what she’s got, and that’s why they’re inducing labor on his poor wife, who was in enough pain before;  _that_  pain happened to be a broken rib, the least of her problems.

Soul wasn’t expecting to be holding her hand and letting her scream bloody murder in his ear for at least another five weeks, and now it’s less of a joyful thing moreso than it is a horrifying one. She looks impossibly tiny, with her legs pressed up like that and her smaller hand gripping onto his; he’ll ask to have it checked out if he hears another sickening  _crack_  from his bones. Her face is red, tears pouring down her cheeks as she screams, tells the nurses that try to silence her that she is doing this her own damn way and if they want her to shut up they’ll have to fucking  **drug her**.

And then, she relaxes, all at once. No one speaks, and Maka pulls Soul by the shoulder to press his forehead to hers—a position that several months ago brought him the best news of his entire life, with her smiling face and that glow in her eyes that made his world turn so  _perfectly_. There’s not a sound, not like there should be, there’s barely even anyone  _breathing_  until:

“Time of death—“

Maka screams. Screams until she throws up over the side of the bed, then cries hysterically instead. Cries until she’s too tired to suck in another breath to wail out in her despair, until they doctors finally decide to leave her be for the night, and falls asleep.

Soul asks, because they never  _did_  get to know.

It was a boy.


End file.
